


Frilly Knickers

by daleked, orithea



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing Kink, Crossdressing Sherlock, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:16:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daleked/pseuds/daleked, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orithea/pseuds/orithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock conducts an experiment in distracting John.</p>
<p>
  <i>'I'd call you a tease, but—'<br/>'But I'm letting you follow through,' Sherlock breathes, spreading his thighs to allow John to fit between them.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frilly Knickers

John knows exactly what Sherlock is doing, knows it’s all to get a rise out of him, to push his boundaries. And he knows that he really ought not respond to it because that’s just what Sherlock wants. What else could be his reason for wearing nothing but a pair of knickers all day?

Said knickers are delicate mesh, pale pink—barely darker than the flush that creeps over Sherlock’s skin as he notices John watching him—and the back is covered in rows of overlapping ruffles that flutter as Sherlock moves around the flat. They’re absolutely incongruous with the chemical resistant gloves and safety goggles that are the only other things that Sherlock is wearing at the moment, and John finds that he can really no longer keep his mouth shut about the matter.

'Put something decent on! What happens if you spill... acid or whatever that is all over yourself in that state?'

Sherlock raises an eyebrow as though the very thought that he could ever be so careless is unfathomable. 'Luckily I keep a physician on hand in case of extremely unlikely accidents.'

John makes a strangled noise and sits in Sherlock's chair so he can watch him work in the kitchen—clenching his jaw and pretending to be concerned instead of turned on. Sherlock doesn't so much as glance at John. He's completely aware of the effect he's having on him.

When John decides to make tea he's sure to pass as close to Sherlock as possible on his way to the kettle, so that he brushes against Sherlock—jeans against skin and thin fabric—just to see if he'll react.

'Don't think I don't know what you're doing,' Sherlock says, arse still up in the air as he checks on the fungal growth samples under the table. There's a hint of amusement in his tone, restrained and gleeful. He peels off his gloves and sets them aside, then does the same with the goggles.

'Same to you, you tart. I hope Lestrade comes in whilst you're in this state.' John can't quite manage to sound as admonishing as he'd like.

Sherlock straightens up and smirks at John. The first thing Sherlock has learnt from strippers is about their posture—hip cocked, chest thrust out, stomach flattened. He employs the pose and watches John fumble with the kettle.

'You are—' John falters with his words. _Mad. Exceptional. Infuriatingly able to figure out exactly what makes him tick_. '—incorrigible,' John settles on. 'Though I think I'd have an awful lot of fun trying to teach you a lesson.'

Kettle forgotten, John crosses the distance between them until he's standing close enough to touch.

Sherlock blinks innocently at John and leans forward.

'What sort of lesson?' Sherlock's voice is breathy and dark, each word painstakingly formed. He runs a suggestive hand down his belly to his thigh, making sure to stroke the ruffles on the knickers.

'One about why one should not conduct one's daily business wearing just knickers without thinking of what it does to one's flatmate. What it makes him want to do to you.' John reaches out to stroke his own hand over the ruffles, then give Sherlock's bottom a firm squeeze.

Sherlock arches and gasps before reaching down to undo John's flies.

'It's not my fault you get distracted so easily.'

'Mm. I'll try it on you sometime and see how well you hold up. Doubt you'd make it as long as I did; you've got no self-control.' John grabs Sherlock's hand to stop him.

'I said this was about what I want to do to _you_ ,' John says. He takes Sherlock's other wrist as well and gives him a meaningful, challenging look.

Sherlock lets his wrist go limp in John's grasp and tilts his head at him.

'Oh,' he says, and smiles. 'Go ahead, then.' He wiggles his butt for good measure.

John gives Sherlock a wicked grin and backs him against the wall, pinning Sherlock's arms just over his head in one hand. He presses upwards, dragging himself over Sherlock's front, to rasp the stubble on his jaw against Sherlock's neck, then follow it with his teeth.

'I'd call you a tease, but—'

'But I'm letting you follow through,' Sherlock breathes, spreading his thighs to allow John to fit between them.

'You always do. Because you love what I do to you.' John punctuates his statement by cupping Sherlock's cock through his knickers. 'Just transport, my arse.'

'It's my arse tonight,' Sherlock says petulantly, playing it up for all it's worth. 'Weren't you going to punish me?'

'If I really wanted to punish you? I'd leave you like this. Ring up Greg and meet him at the pub, because don't think I don't know you did this just so I'd turn you over my knee.'

John roughly turns Sherlock around and presses him back against the wall. He lets his fingers trace the outline of the knickers along Sherlock's cheeks, dipping just inside the elastic.

Sherlock smiles against the wall and pushes his arse out further.

'You wouldn't leave me here like this,' Sherlock says 'You like my bottom far too much.'

'Don't test me. You know how far I'll go to prove a point.'

They both know it's an empty threat but John swats Sherlock's arse cheek hard to make it more convincing.

Sherlock cranes his neck to turn around to look at John.

'Well, do get started, then.'

'Oh, you complete prat.' John lets go of Sherlock's wrists and fists his fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck instead. He uses his grip to pull Sherlock upright and locks his free arm around his waist so that their bodies are flush together at the curve of Sherlock's backside.

'Sofa,' John growls, and nudges Sherlock forward with a shove of his hips. Sherlock stumbles at first before regaining his balance, shuffling over to the couch.

'This is a rather inefficient mode of transport,' he complains, and rubs his arse up against John's erection. 'But I must say the benefits outweigh the cons.'

'I do know what I'm doing, ta.' When they reach the sofa he relaxes his grip on Sherlock. 'On your knees.'

'Done this before, then?' Sherlock asks, keeping the sharpness from his tone. The idea that John has done this before to someone - an ex-girlfriend, anyone but Sherlock- the thought is abhorrent. He gets to his knees and doesn't turn around.

'Jealous?' John sits down on the sofa so that he can look into Sherlock's eyes. He reaches out to cup Sherlock's chin in his hand.

Sherlock yanks his chin out of John’s hand and looks at him defiantly. After a beat, he swallows and pushes his resentment to the back of his mind. Feelings are irrational. Sexual pleasure is not.

'Hardly,' he says. 'You're here now, with me.'

'You were, but you shouldn't be. I've thought about it, but I wouldn't try this with anyone but you.'

John strokes a hand over his lap. 'Up here,' he says.

Sherlock moves into position and folds neatly over John's lap.  The knickers are rucked up after all the movement and have risen higher on his hips, exposing more of his bum and thighs.

'Now,' John says with a heavy, theatrical sigh. 'How many do you think you deserve?' He takes the fingers of his left hand, two held together, and slides them along each crease between Sherlock's thighs and cheeks.

'Fifteen, Sir,' Sherlock says, voice hitching. 'Please.' It's all an act for John's benefit, but Sherlock is enjoying putting on a show.

John knows when he's being played, and he wants nothing more than to make Sherlock drop the act and respond for real.

'Twenty, I think. And you'll count them.' John runs his hand over both sides of Sherlock's arse, warming it up with gentle caresses before he draws back his arm to deliver one stinging blow to the right cheek.

Sherlock starts when the blow lands, blood rushing to the area. He bites his lip. Sherlock hadn't thought John would hit this hard, or that he would like it so much.

'One,' John prompts. 'I want to hear you counting. Let's try that again.' John lets his hand fall heavily over the exact same spot.

'One,' Sherlock repeats, gasping for breath through the pain. 'Oh, John.'

'Good, very good.' John strikes the other side, not quite as hard.

'Two.' The right side of his arse is throbbing, and the second hit doesn't quite balance it out. Sherlock’s breathing is steadier now, and he squares his shoulders best as he can.

The next two hits come in quick succession, hard and stinging on the left and softer on the right. John's goal is to keep Sherlock guessing—hardly an easy feat.

'Three, four,' Sherlock hisses. He grunts and bucks, rubbing his cock against John's thigh. To Sherlock's chagrin, he finds that he's hard from the beating he's receiving.

They make it to ten with John going quickly, relentlessly, giving Sherlock just enough time to say each number before spanking him again. After stroke ten, John pulls down the fabric of the knickers to check Sherlock's skin. It's reddened but not overly abused, and John strokes the still-cool skin of his right hand over the marks left behind to soothe.

John bends down to kiss along Sherlock's spine and asks, 'Still okay?'

'F-fine,' Sherlock stutters, and hates himself. 'Yes. I'm fine.'

'You'll tell me if you're not?' Every rule says that they should have discussed this first, but he and Sherlock have never been very good at playing by the rules.

'Of course.' Sherlock's voice is muffled.

'Good,' John breathes. He leaves the knickers pulled down and the next spanking is a dull thud against bare skin, Like this he can watch the bare flesh of Sherlock's arse jiggle with the strike.

The first smack of John's hand against his bared arse is a surprise.

'Eleven,' Sherlock breathes, and wiggles gingerly in John's lap. He can feel the throbbing starting up again now, this time with a vengeance.

Next come five quick blows, not too hard and alternating sides, to get Sherlock further used to the feeling of John's hand directly on his flesh.

'You like this,' John says. He slides his fingers down the backs of Sherlock's thighs, hoping that the tickling sensation will take his mind off the pain.

'Obviously.' Sherlock squirms when John strokes him, his thighs parting. 'Five more, you said.' He'd lost count in the haze of pain-pleasure John was inflicting on him.

'Four more, but who am I to deny you an extra if you want it? Though it hardly seems like a punishment if you do.' John's hands slip between Sherlock's legs to brush over his bollocks, still mostly covered by fabric.

'And what do you want when I'm done?' John brings his hand down before Sherlock can answer.

'For you to fuck me.' Sherlock's voice is unsteady now, trembling as he speaks. 'Please.'

'Four more,' John says, and because he can't stand the wait he does two in a row on the left cheek. 'How do you want me to fuck you?'

'On the sofa,' Sherlock says, voice nearly gone silent. 'On my front. Please, John.'

'You'll be so tender.' John strikes the right with a sharp, loud slap. 'One more.'

Sherlock's breathing has sped up considerably, and he's sure his face as red as his arse.

'It's going to hurt, every time I push aside and touch your skin.' John regards Sherlock carefully and, rather than taking the last strike easy on him, finds the most reddened spot to land the final blow. It makes his hand sting with the force of it.

Sherlock lets out a hoarse cry at the last smack and whimpers softly afterwards, twitching his hips feebly. 'John. Come on.'

John eases Sherlock from his lap and onto the sofa cushions. The knickers are pulled down and flung aside, enticing though they are, because he wants Sherlock to be able to spread wide for him. Kneeling behind Sherlock, John takes both cheeks in his hands and squeezes, gently, trying to smooth out some of the sting. It also allows him to part them and dip his thumb between to brush over Sherlock's hole.

'Lube,' John groans, 'and a condom.' They've really got to plan these things better. 'In your room?'

'On the mantelpiece under the skull,' Sherlock groans. 'I put some there just in case.'

'Oh, you brilliant man.' It's still farther than he'd like to walk but at least it's not rooms away. John scrambles off the sofa and retrieves the small tube of lubricant and condom stashed under the skull.

John takes the time to shed his clothing while he's up, with a sigh of relief because he's been hard inside his jeans from Sherlock writhing on his lap for far too long. When he kneels behind Sherlock again, John is naked, and he takes a moment to spread himself out over Sherlock's back, kissing the nape of his neck and grinding against his overheated skin.

Sherlock grumbles faintly as John gets on top of him, pushing his arse back to feel John's cock better. The skin feels raw and he's sure it's at least a bright red based on the number of blows and the sharpness of them.

'Honestly, John,' Sherlock says, but doesn't get any further when John's cock slips between his cheeks and rubs against his hole. 'You'd better fuck me, or I'm going to my room and locking myself in with the toys.'

'That is an even emptier fucking threat than my claim of leaving earlier, and you know it.' John bites the junction between Sherlock's neck and shoulder playfully before sitting back on his heels. He spreads lube across two of his fingers then rubs them together across Sherlock's entrance.

John would normally be gentle and thorough with fingering Sherlock open, but they're both impatient and the evening has been an experiment in pushing limits. With two fingers curled together, John presses inside.

Sherlock whines softly and raises his hips, feeling John piston freely in and out him. He can feel himself loosen easier today out of relief that the spanking has stopped, his rim relaxing and stretching to accommodate John's thick fingers.

'God, you're a beautiful sight. Cheeks all red and raw—you can see my hand print on one of them, leading into the crease. My fingers in you...' John trails off, admiring it for a few more pushes before he pulls his fingers out to roll on the condom and slick himself up.

'Think you're ready for me?'

'I've been ready since you bent me over your knee,' Sherlock retorts, having regained some of his composure. He props himself up on his elbows and turns around to look at John.

'Your cock would be so thick inside me. And my arse is all hot from the spanking. I'll be so warm around you, John. You know I would tighten if you smacked me, and that's exactly what you're counting on. Me giving small cries as you spank me while fucking me into the sofa. You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

John might have been more upset by Sherlock turning the tables on him, taking over in their little game of dominance, if everything he was saying weren't so deliciously true.

'Yes. Don't sound so smug about it,' John says. He teases the tip of his cock against Sherlock's hole.

Sherlock moves backwards and takes in the head of John’s cock in one fluid movement before staying still, quivering as he waits for John to push in the rest of the way.

'Impatient,' John says with fond exasperation, then pushes inside. He goes swiftly, hardly giving Sherlock time to adjust to the stretch.

Sherlock stiffens in surprise at the thrust before relaxing and reaching down to give his own cock a tug, enjoying the heavy feeling of having John inside him. He tightens experimentally, which stretches the skin of his arse. The resulting wave of sensation makes Sherlock gasp and shudder, pressing upwards against John.

'Move,' he demands. 'Fuck me.'

'Give me a moment,' John snaps. 'It's not all about you. You're so tight, I—'

John draws out slowly, then snaps his hips forward, driving his cock in and pressing his hipbones into Sherlock's abused flesh.

Sherlock curses under his breath as John comes into contact with the tender skin of his arse. It burns but feels cooler when John draws back before fucking into him again, and Sherlock squeezes his eyes shut to focus on the sensations.

They don't exactly have tender sex usually, but it's not quite so rough either. The last time John fucked Sherlock whilst he was on his belly like this it was with slow, deep thrusts, and John had stroked his fingers through Sherlock's curls and licked sweat off his shoulders.

This time it feels inspired to bury his fingers in curls again, but then to tug sharply, so that Sherlock will gasp out and arch his back, driving his arse up higher. The noises that slip from Sherlock every time John makes contact with reddened skin make him thrust harder, faster, to hear them again.

'Are you close?' John pants. 'Because you're clenching around me like fucking mad.'

'I'm fucking close,' Sherlock whimpers. 'Oh god.' His stroking has sped up. 'I need to—' The words melt into a soft cry as Sherlock reaches his climax.

'Good,' John says, 'so fucking good.' He loves it when Sherlock comes, and John's grinning against the curve of Sherlock's shoulder when he feels Sherlock's muscles trembling and tightening beneath him. John fucks Sherlock through it, short, shallow thrusts that nudge the head of his cock over Sherlock's prostate probably more than is comfortable in his sensitive state, and that's all it takes for John to come as well.

Sherlock collapses onto the couch, body limp with pleasure. John is a pleasant weight on top of him, but his arse is now burning up because of body heat.

'That was worth it.'


End file.
